


Reconcile

by thegirlwiththemouseyhair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-06 15:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4227069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwiththemouseyhair/pseuds/thegirlwiththemouseyhair





	Reconcile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alasse_Irena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alasse_Irena/gifts).



The first thought that comes to Regulus is how _weird_ it must be, his brother and his brother’s friend living together in a tiny place like this. It’s a Muggle town, but Regulus is pretty sure two men raising an orphaned baby together is as unusual in the Muggle world as it is in wizarding communities. Then again, his brother had always been brash enough not to mind sticking out like a sore thumb. And now – well. Desperate times call for desperate measures and all that.

That thought, of course, brings Regulus’s mind back to the war, and the changes it has caused and, really, continues to cause in his community. They haven’t been particularly good changes. Some wizards and witches, his own parents included, still can’t see that, but the thought of all that death and suspicion and violence turns Regulus’s stomach, even now. His family would say he’s begun thinking like his brother. In some respects, that’s absolutely fine by him.

He looks around. A few rambling buildings line what must be the High Street – tea shops and cafes, a sweet shop, and a couple places selling books and trinkets and similar wares. Regulus thinks of his school trips to Hogsmeade, before wincing at the thought of the village boarded up with people fleeing or weeping in grief or fear, there and in dozens of other wizard towns and neighbourhoods. The Potters had been killed at their house in Godric’s Hollow, which must be a gloomy place still: they’d been well-liked even if Regulus couldn’t have pictured that a few years ago. The Longbottoms’ deaths had similarly devastated the town they’d lived in somewhere up north. No wonder Sirius and his friendhad hidden themselves away in the most mundane Muggle town they could find.

Regulus bites his lip. He feels suddenly cold despite the warm sea air on his skin, and looks around for a place to sit for a moment. The nearest bench is just across an open shop door, and half-occupied by a large cat with splendid black, red, and ivory fur. Regulus smiles. The animal is almost the spitting image of his Morgana, whom he’d cherished for his first three years at Hogwarts before she ran off into the Highlands never to be seen again. He approaches the bench and holds one hand out for the cat to sniff.

“She’s not for sale,” an old woman remarks. Regulus turns to stare at her – an old Muggle woman leaning on a cane in the dusty shop doorway. He suppresses a grimace of disdain – at being caught off-guard, or told what he can or can’t do by a little old Muggle. Maybe both. The woman continues smiling up at him.

“I’ve plenty of fine things that are, though – first edition books, and a lovely selection of rare maps and charming guides to the area. You do look a bit lost, if you’ll pardon my saying so.”

_No more or less irritating than old Fortescue with his big stupid grin going on about his sodding ice cream_ , Regulus thinks. _No suspicion, just trying to sell me things. No reason to take offense._

“Do you know where Cliff House is?” he asks. “I don’t need a whole guide book, just that house.”

The old lady lifts one hand from her cane and points.

“You’ll want to follow the High Street until just after it becomes Gower, and then it’s on your right. But I think it’s already been let for this summer.”

“I _know_ it has,” Regulus says. “My brother’s saying there. I just didn’t know the way.”

“Ah,” the old lady says. Her smile twitches, becoming broader, more amused, to match the gleam in her eye. Somehow, something about her look reminds him of Professor Dumbledore: you would think it oblivious, if you didn’t know better. But this was a Muggle town, where no one could _possibly_ know anything about the House of Black. _Then again, Sirius may be up to his old tricks, even in a new town and a new world…_

“Thank you,” he says, curtly.

The old lady nods before heading back inside her shop. The cat, meanwhile, has only just acknowledged Regulus, and butts her head against his hand half-heartedly. Regulus rubs the soft ears until she backs away. Then he looks around again. Perhaps he should go straight up to Sirius’s house: he’s a little tired, but he’d rather rest once he gets there than sit around in the High Street and invite all the Muggles to stare at him.

He begins the slow trudge uphill to Cliff House.

*

The old Muggle woman neglected to mention that there were a lot of houses at the top of the hill where the High Street became Gower Street. Nevertheless, Regulus soon comes to one cottage where he thinks he can discern Sirius’s hand. The grass is unkempt, even worse than the neighbouring houses with their _for let_ signs, and the front lawn is home to an array of Muggle motorcars – or motorbikes – in various states of disrepair. The upstairs window, however, looks a little _too_ new, as if it had been repaired with a _reparo_ charm rather than left to crack in spider web patterns like the houses across. It’s a patchwork of magical and Muggle touches – at least, Regulus thinks it is. Besides, the address is right. He crosses the lawn, slowing his pace as he draws closer to the house, and trying not to pant for breath after the uphill walk.

Regulus has always been quiet. He learned how to be when he needed to tiptoe around Grimmauld Place without interrupting his parents’ and Sirius’s furious shouting, and it had served him well during his school years in eavesdropping on gossip and avoiding prefects. It had served him well when he turned against the Dark Lord, too, though he pushes that thought from his brain as soon as it comes. But he’s still quiet.

Sirius isn’t. Regulus relaxes, just a little, when he hears his brother’s voice through the shiny open window. Some things never change.

“It’s a good sideline,” he hears his brother say. “Half the Muggles were perfectly satisfied.”

“Yes, but you sounded perfectly ignorant trying to explain to the other half why you did _nothing_ ,” a second voice says – Remus Lupin, Sirius’s best friend or best surviving friend, at any rate. “Not to mention you’ll bring the Ministry down on us for tampering with Muggle artefacts. You can only ask Arthur for so many favours.”

“You’re just cross about having to support _me_ for a change,” Sirius says, in that petulant tone.

A smile tugs at Regulus’s mouth. He’s not used to Sirius being good-humoured around him. _Well, he’s not_ actually _around me yet_ …

“No, I’m quite content to manage the shop,” the other man counters. “But you’re asking for trouble.”

The argument ends in laughter. Regulus’s smile fades. He doesn’t have many friends left who are out of Azkaban and still willing to see him, let alone laugh with him or be a regular part of his life. There’s Severus, who probably has more in common with him than nearly anyone else in Wizarding Britain, but Severus isn’t really the type to have friends. Even Thessaly Greengrass, the girl Regulus had dated at Hogwarts before they lost touch, had become a casualty of the War. She’d been caught in a crossfire of spells which took her life and any chance of reconnecting as adults – and the rest of the Greengrass clan hardly cared. That was the worst part. They were awfully like the House of Black in that respect.

Well. _Most_ of the House of Black.

He takes another faltering step toward the door. What was he thinking, barging in unannounced to see his brother? Regulus knows how unforgiving Sirius can be, how black and white, despite all his noble ideals. And yet, there are so few people he _does_ talk to these days…

He taps on the front door at last. A long moment passes before he hears footsteps through the flimsy front wall of the house. Regulus worries at his lip and balls one hand into a fist, annoyed with his brother when he knows he shouldn’t be, but determined to make the best of their reunion, if he can.

The door opens inward, and Sirius appears in the doorway with a dark-haired toddler riding on his back. _Right. The Potter child._ The boy’s dark hair and greenish eyes are so like his parents that Regulus has to wince at the memory of what happened to them, and what had very nearly happened to him. As usual, he pushes away the memories of the war that had taken their lives, and bites back an acid remark to his brother. _Sirius raising a child; that must be a brilliant success…_

“Hello,” he says instead. 

Sirius’s eyes open wide, then narrow slightly. Regulus suppresses a hiss. _For heaven’s sake, don’t be so bloody black and white…_

“Well,” Sirius says. He stands still, clearly shocked to see Regulus. Regulus can’t completely blame him: he’s still rather surprised at himself for coming up here. The Potter boy blinks at Regulus, then busies himself wrapping chubby fingers around the drawstring of Sirius’s Muggle jumper. Sirius bats his hand away.

“I thought it was – about time,” Regulus begins. He tries to force a smile when Lupin’s voice interrupts them, from upstairs, Regulus thinks.

“Sirius, who is it?”

“My brother,” Sirius calls back. At last he smiles at Regulus, almost genuine, and jerks his head toward the staircase. “He’s going to tell me to let you in, so I suppose…”

Regulus relaxes as Sirius takes a step backward to allow him into the house. Then Sirius’s face hardens again.

“It’s not what you’reused to, though.”

Memories flood Regulus’s brain – his mother glowering down the stairs at him in Grimmauld Place once he finally started to speak out, or the hall at Malfoy Manor with the Dark Lord sitting just a few chairs from him at a table, or, worst of all, that cave in the middle of nowhere, and the Inferi… His pulse quickens, but he forces the thoughts away before he starts to panic and glares at Sirius.

“We’ve all seen a lot worse than a neglected Muggle town,” he snaps. His own tone reminds him of his brother. Regulus sniffs, annoyed both at Sirius and himself, but steps over the threshold and into the cottage. Sirius tries to ignore him, a good sign, presumably, and lets the Potter boy down to toddle over to some Muggle toy shaped like a horse.

“You’ve got a point there,” Sirius says, grudgingly. Regulus knows he’s relenting, like he sometimes would when they were boys and would interrupt their friendship with occasional rows. He sounds far more haggard now, though. They all do. Their whole world is haggard, rougher, and only just starting to be mended around the frayed bits like some dreadful hand me down robe.

_Or like this place_ , Regulus thinks, looking around the house. He smiles a little.

“You know we’re on the same side,” he says. Sirius looks away from him to move a leather jacket from the floor to the hook by the door. At last he nods.

“Suppose we are.”

“And I’m – sorry about your friends,” Regulus adds. He gestures towards the child. Sirius looks up too late to see the movement, but Regulus can tell by the tight look on his face that the words have struck a chord with him.

“Thanks,” Sirius mutters. “I’m sorry about that Greengrass girl, too.”

There’s nothing either of them can do about the past and the toll it has taken on them. Regulus nods, absently. He doesn’t mention Peter Pettigrew sitting in Azkaban with whole swathes of Regulus’s old circle, and doesn’t add that Sirius is lucky, in a way, to have someone, anyone, to start a new life with. _Bizarre, but lucky._

“How are you getting on?” Regulus asks.

Sirius’s mouth twitches. “All right.”

Footsteps creak on the wooden stairs. Regulus looks up and recognizes Remus Lupin – looking older and greyer than Regulus remembers, but smiling wanly.

“It’s good to see you,” Lupin says.

Regulus fidgets. It’s still odd for him to have to talk to someone from such a different background like an old friend. Hogwarts was never much good at teaching him that. But he nods politely.

“Thanks,” he murmurs. He tries not to make his discomfort too obvious even as silence descends, and even as Lupin and Sirius exchange a private look.

“Can you stay to tea?” Lupin asks. “Are you in town, or…?”

The truth is that Regulus is drifting. He’s done a lot of that lately. He’s not even sure where he’ll stay the night – whether he’ll Apparate back to London and back to the flat he’s been using in Diagon Alley, or choose between staying with his brother or holing up in a Muggle inn here in Cornwall.

“I should be happy to stay to tea,” he says, more stiffly than he intended. Sirius smirks at him.

“So polished,” he teases. Regulus shrugs. They had this argument a dozen times as children.

“So posh and polished,” Sirius continues, scooping up the Potter boy, who giggles. Lupin shakes his head.

“Let’s not have a row over tea, all right?”

And Regulus is a little surprised to feel his own smile returning.

“I don’t think that will be an issue,” he says, and follows Sirius into the kitchen.


End file.
